Sophia Holmes and the Tilly Briggs Cruise of Terror
by Dralice99
Summary: Book 5 Just few days after the confrontation of their newest enemy, Sherlock and Sophia are drafted in to investigate the murder of their client's partner on Gay Cruise Liner, the 'Tilly Briggs'. The only trouble is blending in.
1. Chapter 1 (03-31 15:26:50)

"John?" I call, knocking on his bedroom door. I hear a scuffle and a bump as he falls off his bed inside and I hold in a small laugh. Eventually, I hear him struggle to his feet and his soft footsteps making their way over to open the door. Even in the dim light of the hallway, I can still see the huge black bags under his eyes from where he hasn't slept comfortably. He keeps having nightmares about the night we were held as hostages at the swimming pool and flinches constantly at the slighest noise. "You might want to put that gun away," I suggest, gesturing to the loaded pistol he holds in one hand. I can't say I blame his current sensitivity: I don't feel entirely safe with Moriarty on the loose. But, as dad said, if he was going to do anything, he would have done it at the swimming pool.

"Oh right," John says, rubbing his eyes. "Yeah, sorry. What time is it?"

"One o'clock, as promised," I say brightly, wide awake. To be honest, I hadn't gone to bed. I was in the middle of writing up the last case from my point of view before I came up here.

"I asked you to wake me up early," John says, wiping his hand across his face as he yawns. "And by that, I didn't mean one o' bloody clock!"

"Sorry," I shrug. "You're up now, anyway. There's no point in going back to bed. Have you packed?" I'm refering to the short holiday John booked for him and his doctor girlfriend to New Zealand, basically just to get away from the activity here at Baker Street. It's been a tough few weeks for him, and he's agreed that he needs the rest.

"Yeah," he says, yawning again, "everything's sorted."

"I help you take it down now. Sherlock's decided you're leaving early."

"And by early he means -"

"One o'clock, yes," I confirm. "The wait shouldn't be too long, once you've picked Sally up and then try and get through customs, with a gun."

"Her name's Sarah," John reminds me, going back into his room. "And I'm not taking the gun."

"Yes you are," I contradict, and John sighs in exasperation as I follow him in and pick up his hand luggage.

Once downstairs, I put the small bag by the door and then join dad at the dining table, where he's scanning through his emails.

"Is he bringing the gun?" dad asks me, his eyes remaining on the screen.

"Yep, it's in," I reply, sinking into the sofa. "He shouldn't be too long now. Any news on Moriarty?"

"Nothing," he admits, and closes the laptop as we hear John's footsteps coming down the stairs.

"Are you sure you'll be alright while I'm gone," John asks, hoisting a bag packed for a week onto his back before picking up his hand luggage.

"We survived well enough before you came," I remind him. "Say hello to Sandra for me."

"Sarah!" he says, rolling his eyes. "Alright, I'll see you next week." Not to anyone's surprise, no formal 'goodbye' is given, but I stand up to watch him hail a cab, just about to return home by the looks of things, and drive off to New Zealand. Now we have a week to ourselves. Where do we begin?


	2. Chapter 2

It's barely been a day since John left for New Zealand, and we're already bored. On the plus side, the flat is quiet, spared from John's permanent lecturing.

"Start from the beginning," dad says to the client perched on the stool in front. "Try and be interesting."

"Right," the man says, looking down to the floor. He's wearing skinny jeans and a tight top, his hair laced with product. "My name is Danny Waters." His hands begin to shake. "My partner and I booked a cruise to America a few weeks ago to get away from work and to celebrate our marriage."

"When you say 'partner', you mean that as in your 'civil partner'?" I confirm, leaning back into John's seat.

"Uh," he replies, his face reddening. "Yeah. His name was Mick."

"If there's been a murder, Mr Waters, why have you come to us and not the police."

"I did go to the police," the man protests. "But they passed it off as a suicide."

"But you don't think it is. Why?" dad asks, frowning.

"Because he didn't say goodbye," he starts to sob and I sigh, leaning back into my seat. And it looked so promising.

"Aw, how touching," dad says sarcastically. "Now if you don't mind..." He waves a hand towards the door.

"Wait!" Waters tries, and I lean forward again. "That's not all. The night he died, he was called out for a meeting with someone, he didn't say who. Apparently some others were going as well, and I waited up all night and he didn't come back."

"And the other passengers?" I question, my interest growing. "The others who went that night?"

"They didn't come back either."

"You still haven't answered my question," dad says. "Why assume murder?"

"If it was suicide, he would have left a note."

"Not neccesarily."

"Mick was an author, he wrote down everything. He would write a suicide note." Dad looks across to me, seeking my opinion before giving his answer. I shrug in reply.

"We'll take the case," dad says, putting his hands up to his face. "I'll need Mick's diary or notes before we start. What was the name of the ship?"

"The Tilly Briggs," he tells us. "Thank you Mr Holmes, I just want to know, more than anything."

"Yes, right, lovely, leave," dad says, and Waters stands up and leaves, stopping by the door to say goodbye, but then thinks better of it. As the door closes downstairs, dad brings his hands away from his mouth and looks back over to me. "Look up the Tilly Briggs," he says, walking over to where I'm sat.

"Doing it now," I mutter, typing the name into the search bar and waiting for the results to come up. "'The Tilly Briggs prides itself on providing a luxury cruise for male couples in a retreat away from prying eyes' ect: ect," I read out. "So basically it's a gay ship."


	3. Chapter 3

"Book us some tickets," dad says, looking over my shoulder. "We need to be on that boat the next time it leaves England."

"I wont be allowed on," I laugh. "I'd be too young anyway. And I wouldn't have anyone to go with."

"Cruise ships are always looking for staff. Try and find a position as a waiter or something." Brilliant, I get to pose as a gay waiter for a for a fortnight at least! It's not the disguise I mind, I just don't like being distracted while we're on cases.

I type dad's details into the website, but it comes back saying that there has to be two passengers coming at the very least.

"You could be my partner," dad suggests.

"Excuse me?" I say, raising my eyebrows.

"For the sake of the case!" dad stresses.

"No way! Waiter, fine. I'm not in any way, shape or form going to be your partner. That's weird even for our standards."

"What do you suggest, then?"

"We wait until John comes back," I say simply, shrugging.

"Oh yes, he's going to love that," dad says sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "'Hey John, welcome back. Here's your ticket for a gay cruise to America.'"

"For the sake of the case!" I repeat, then roll my eyes. "We won't tell him, then," I say, beginning to enter John's details as well.

"I'm sure he'll realise what's going on when he sees that there isn't a woman in sight," dad argues.

"But by that time, it'll be too late," I finish, and click 'submit'. "There we go. We're due to leave the day after John arrives back." I sit back in the seat, smirking in satisfaction as Dad walks back to his seat, a huge sulk beginning. I open a new tab and search for job vacancies on the Tilly Briggs. The results come back with two kitchenhands, entertainer (male stripper), waiters and cleaners. Not seeing much option other than going for the waiter, I submit my details and wait. The chances are that they'll come back saying I'm too young, but then I see an email noticifation pop up, and I open it to see a message from Tilly Briggs.

Dear Scott

Thank you for submitting your application as a Waiter for our cruise liner.

Unfortunately we are unable to accept your application at the moment due to your age. However, we are opening jobs in the holidays for applicants such as yourself to gain some work experience by working as personal assistants for our customers.

I hope you find this offer acceptable, and we hope to hear of your opinion on the matter soon.

The Crew of the Tilly Briggs

"Oh!" I say quietly, after reading the email through. "That could be helpful, very helpful indeed."

"What?" dad asks.

"They've offered me a work experience placement as a personal assistant," I tell him. I can't help but feel a twinge of suspicion. This suits what I need perfectly, and I'm almost certain that it is no coincidence.

"Keep your eyes open," dad says, agreeing with my opinion as he picks up a newspaper and scouts through it. "Sounds too good to be true."

"I agree," I say, typing back a quick reply. "But at least we know we're walking into a trap."


	4. Chapter 4

We begin to prepare for the trip the next day. After taking a quick look through John's wardrobe, we decide that we should start by going clothes shopping.

For a teenage girl, I'm (probably not so suprisingly) uninterested in clothes shopping, so indeed the only time I visit a shopping centre such as this one is if we're on a case and in need of a disguise. An email had come through earlier, detailing what my uniform needed to include, so, taking one of dad's cards, I head off in search of the outfit. Fortunately, I have most of what I need already - black jeans and a white shirt - but I was in need for some accessories to stand out.

As I pass the escalators in the centre of the shops, I hear a familiar cry.

"Oh, look! It's the freak!" I feel my muscles tense as a group of girls step off from the escalators.

"What's it doing here?" another calls, then laughs.

"Is the freak trying to be cool?" simpers a third whilst I continue walking. I can't be doing with this today.

"Now look who's the chicken," the first calls, and they all begin clucking behind my back.

"I find nothing rewarding in associating with idiots," I retort, turning around and smiling calmly at them. I can see now that they are girls from my school: Maddie, Hannah, Amber and their little gang of imbeciles. "I see that you are here to spend all your money on the overpriced and so-called 'fashions' of today. Perhaps also to prey on the different because your minds can't comprehend that somebody may not follow the same ideaology as you." Maddie's lip curled in distinct hatred.

"People like you aren't normal, Holmes."

"So you have already told me, dozens of times," I smile, turning around and walking away.

School is going to be living hell when I get back. The only reason I stick to the tedious environment is because Mycroft is under the impression that I 'need a good education'. I don't see why dad can't home school me, I already know more than what is needed to pass an A level in French, Science and Maths. Perhaps that is what makes me the freak?

The little gang of idiots don't bother to follow me into the small accessories shop at the back of the shopping centre, and it seems I judged this decision well. This shop is practically empty at the moment except from the shop-girl behind the counter. Because this store is typically for females of my age, I'm not given a second glance as I stride in and begin to study the shelves.

I leave the shop with a black fedora with a rainbow trim and I'm immediately ambushed by the girls again as they come out of the shop opposite.

"Look!" I hear one of the girls call and I see Amber point towards me.

"What's the freak doing in there?" Maddie shrieks.

"I want to know what she's bought!" laughs Hannah, beginning to walk over. I ignore them and head over to one of the many clothes shops, but they follow behind me.

"Walking away again, chicken?"

"Come on, what've you got in the bag?" One of them darts ahead of the rest and tugs the bag from my hand. "Oh, my god!" She laughs as I turn around and shows the girls the inside of the bag.

"What even is that?"

"Ew! It's disgusting!" Amber tosses the bag onto the floor.

"You've really outdone yourself this time, freak," Maddie snears. "Who's this for, your gay freak father?" I feel the anger brewing inside, and I walk over to where they stand. The girls stop laughing as I approach them, seeing my clenched fist before it swings up and hits Maddie. She clutches her cheek as her eyes widen in surprise and all her idiots crowd around her, pushing me back out of the way. I pick up my bags and brush down my shirt, frowing over at the blubbing girl. It's not as though I even hit her very hard. I know security will be coming for me now, so I text dad a quick message and walk slowly, casually out of the shopping centre, but not before I hear Maddie say her last words to me. "You are such a freak, Holmes."


	5. Chapter 5

When dad gets back from the shops, we lay out our purchases on the bed whilst I explain again to dad why I had to leave so early. He does't raise an eyebrow once I explain what I did, and I get the feeling that it's exactly what he would have done, if he was in my situation.

Looking down at dad's bed, I see the three suitcases layed down. One is a glossy black and obviously dad's, John's is clearly the dark green one beside it, and then lastly is my deep blue one. Inside each case, dad has packed each of our respective outfits inside to keep them ordered.

Peering inside of mine, I find some bright and colourful clothes which I assume I am to wear on my days off, including accessories such as a thin blue scarf and a pair of aviator sunglasses. I'm, in general, satisfied with these outfits as he hadn't included anything which I would feel uncomfortable in.

Next, I decide to look inside John's case. Inside are several pairs of tight, blue jeans and not a single of his wollen jumpers are in sight, instead being replaced by checked tops. I do believe John would feel a little more uncomfortable in these.

After expressing my appreciation to dad and packing the case with some of the bare neccessities, we store the cases under the bed and go into the living room to research more about what we need to do. I delve into the recent records of the Tilly Briggs and draw up a list of the full crew and passengers on the ship to begin with, then after, highlight the names of those which went missing during the cruise. Not to my surprise, the victims are all entirely passengers - not a single crew member involved, apparently. As dad gets to ringing Mycroft for background checks on the staff, I load several social media sites on several different tabs and then start typing in the names of the victims. Naturally, I get several hundred back for each name I type in, but then I cross-reference each of them. First I check them for their sexuality, and then for recent holidays. Surprisingly, I get one result for each name after checking these two things, which doesn't normally happen that easily. All the same, I open up each of the pages and look at their status' up until the night of their disappearance. It is apparent that the ship has wifi, as most cruise ships have nowadays, as aside from a couple of passengers, the rest updated their respective status each night, detailing where they went and what they saw and the general babble of human behaviour. Joy for social media!

I print out the profile pictures of each of the victims, ones clearly showing their face in case I need them for later use, and then along with the list, pin them to the wall, writing below, their names. Once I've finished, I stand in front of the wall and on bits of paper, write down some of the most important status' and some of each persons hobby in an attempt to find a connection. As dad comes off of the phone I turn around but stay quiet as I see dad's annoyance. The crew must have checked out as being okay.

"They're all okay," dad begins, seeing me looking, "apart from their new cleaner. A crimimal record for kidnapping and murder."

"But either you're angry because it's too simple or because he left before the disappearances happened."

"Correct," dad says, spinning around as he thinks. "Quit before the last ship left Plymouth."

"He still could have done it," I point out. "We've seen it happen."

"And here you arrive at the 'too simple' part of my annoyance." I sigh and rock my head back to look at the ceiling.

"Which means we still have to get on the ship."

"I'm afraid so." I sigh and begin to go into my mind palace to file away the information I've found out so far today.


	6. Chapter 6

John doesn't update his blog until the day before he's due back. Apparently, but not surprisingly, Sarah has either found out about John's little fling with Martha or he's been showing signs of being distracted because they've broken up. I put up a little message of badly written sympathy (I never liked her anyway) and then advised dad to go out and buy some alcohol to soften John up for the impact of what we're going to tell him. Plus, it's what flatmates are supposed to do, apparently, when one or the other of them split up.

He arrives back a little after midnight the next day, whilst dad and I are still up. We are currently practicing a new duet dad and I composed together called 'The Break-up" and play it as he comes up the stairs, struggling with the luggage that he pulls up behind him.

"Don't bother to help, then," John moans.

"Hmm," I cough as we continue to play. He should know better than to interrupt when we're playing.

"Glad to know I was missed!" John sighs, leaving his suitcase by the door and walks over to his chair before falling into it.

"The beers are in the fridge, beside the feet," dad says, lowering the violin and putting it down against the window.

"Hmm?"

"You haven't read your blog since you last updated, it's obviously because you're too 'upset' about your breakup -"

"Sherlock, not now," John groans, rubbing his head.

"You've had trouble sleeping, a tough breakup then," dad continues, ignoring John. "You were hoping to visit some places of interest whilst you were away, but she was more keen to relax. This is where the tension began, I expect. Am I wrong?"

"Bloody hell, Sherlock," John sighs.

"Fridge," dad repeats, clearly pleased with proving his point, "beside the feet." John staggers to his feet and swings open the fridge. In place of the head which was in there last week are now the feet of a woman in her late sixties, and beside them, as promised, are the beers.

John takes two from the pack of six and hands one to dad.

"Er," he says hesitantly, looking at me. "Did you want one?"

"No, I'll pass," I mutter, walking over to the table to hide the brochure on the ship, and ponder over how we're going to break it to him.

"So," he groans as he sits back into his seat, "what have you two been up to?"

"I've taken a job," I say, interrupting dad as he opens his mouth. "On a ship." John nearly drops his drink as he laughs, taking it as a joke. "What?" I frown.

"Nothing," he laughs, and takes another sip.

"What?!" I repeat, sharply.

"Not long ago, you were saying jobs were boring," John points out, holding back a laugh. "And now you've taken a job on a ship?"

"Yes," I frown, "I just said that, keep up. I'm starting this morning, you and Sherlock need to drop me off." I look across at dad and see him smirk slightly.

"No, I can't, I've got -"

"Cancel them," dad interrupts. "The world doesn't fall if John Watson is without a girlfriend for a few days."

"You have a case?"

"Straight after you've dropped me off," I smile. John sighs and puts his empty beer can down on the side.

"Fine," he agrees reluctantly. "I can't pretend I've missed this though."

"You did miss it," dad corrects with a smile.

"You know what?" John says, ignoring dad. "I think I'll go to bed, I'm knackered." He picks up his can and takes it over to the bin. It hasn't taken him long to get over his breakup, and it wasn't even hard because now he's in the game.


	7. Chapter 7

"Sophie, have you got everything?" John asks, knocking on the door. "We're going to have to go in a minute."

"Oh yeah," I smile to myself in the mirror as I straighten out my clothes, a tight pair of blue jeans which end just under the waistband of my boxer shorts, and a pale blue shirt. I wrap a light scarf around before replying. "I'll just be a minute. Could you open the door?" As the door opens, I hand him his green case and dad's black one.

"How many cases do you need?" he asks, astounded.

"Well I'm away for a fortnight!" I reply, wheeling my own into the living room and ignoring John's raised eyebrows at my outfit.

"I guess you're changing on board, then," he says, placing the cases to one side as we wait for dad to come out from the bathroom. God only knows what he's doing in there. "Sherlock, hurry up, we'll miss the boat." I hide a small smile as he turns to me again. "Why couldn't you have got a job on one closer to home?"

"None of the other ships would take me," I reply, straight faced as dad emerges from the bathroom at last, his hair fluffier than usual but still in it's usual curls. John shifts his position slightly upon seeing dad before beginning to laugh.

"Don't laugh," dad says, but that just makes John laugh even harder. "No, really, don't."

"Your hair?" he manages to gasp.

"Don't we have a train to catch?" dad sighs, and John straightens his face before going downstairs to hide his escaping chuckle. I share a quick, knowing glance with dad but I have to bite my lip. He does look ridiculous.

"Nice," I smirk glancing up at his hair before I can stop myself.

"Shut up!" dad hisses, raking another hand through his hair.

"Sherlock, Sophie, taxi!" John calls from downstairs, and dad and I grab the bags and take them downstairs.

I can see the taxi driver eyeing us suspiciously as we step inside, obviously re-thinking his desicion of adopting a child with his partner, but says nothing. We're not in the cab for long as Paddington station isn't too far away. I'm glad we're taking the cab, though, as these suitcases are heavy and would be a nightmare to manoeuvre around on the tube. The driver helps us unload before taking his fare and heading off again

Once we're on the train, we start the five hour journey down to Plymouth. The scenery flies past and John gazes out at it, but dad and I are on our phones, making the most of the on-board wifi. We're due to arrive at Plymouth half an hour before the ship sets sail, which should give us plenty of time to get settled on board and for me to sign in with management.

We say very little as we check each of our email accounts for any cases we can solve as entertainment on the trip.

"A man claiming that he photographed an alien ship, but it disappeared as he took the camera away," I laugh softly to dad and show him the picture.

"Obsessed with the supernatural," dad begins, "that is nothing but a speck of dirt on the lense."

"So no aliens?" I say, sarcastically dissapointed.

"No aliens, no," dad confirms, smirking and looking back down at his phone. "Try this one: A police woman down in Southampton is puzzled over a case in which involves a murder. The victim owns a large estate with a small collection of staff." I take the phone from him and scan through the message quickly before smirking and shaking my head.

"How simple," I laugh. "The act was committed on a Sunday, and the daughter's alibi is her collection of the post from the post office? Did she honestly think that one through?" Dad shares my laughter, but John looks up at us, obviously not making the connection.

"How -?"

"No post on Sunday's!" John's mouth widens as he nods in understanding, and dad and I continue to share cases.


	8. Chapter 8

Once we arrive in Plymouth, we follow the directions I've been given and manage to work our way around customs and into the massive bustle of men pushing to get on. Every so often, I look at John to see how he's reacting to all of this, and to my surprise, he's calm.

"Where did you say we had to drop you off again?" John asks, looking curiously at the men around him.

"It's just inside," I say, moving slightly so that I'm blocking the massive banner advertising this gay cruise liner.

"There's an awful lot of men here, Sophs," he says, and I frown slightly at the nickname. "Are you sure this is the right boat?"

"I'm certain," I say as a gay couple push past us.

"In fact," he says, craning his neck to look over the heads in front, "I would go as far as saying that there's not a woman in sight."

"Perhaps it was hired for a Stag Do," I suggest casually, pulling him forward as a man appears in the entrance of the boat, his bright pink suit positively glowing. Upon sight of this man, the noise dies down and the pushing stops as everybody begins to listen.

"Welcome, everybody, to the Tilly Briggs," he pauses and flashes a cheesy smile around at us all. "Now what are you waiting for? The ultimate gay experience starts here!"

"Sophia Holmes," John hisses in my ear. "You and your father better have a really good explanation for why we are here."


	9. Chapter 9

Dad comes back to meet us when he sees John trying to push his way back through the crowd, and together we manage to pull him onboard.

"I want an explanation," John huffs as we lead him up the ramp.

"Yeah, and we'll give you one once we're inside," I hiss, before breaking off and sinking into the crowd. It's important now that I don't associate myself with them, otherwise it'll seem suspicious that we arrived together.

As I move to the side, I spot the guy who spoke just a moment ago and go over to speak to him.

"Excuse me, are you Mr Cambola?" I ask, adopting a deeper voice to try and pass as a male.

"Ah, yes!" he says, turning to smile at me, and again I see his icy white teeth. "And you must be Scott."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you sir," I say and he chuckles, shaking his head.

"We have no need for formalities here, Scott. All our staff are told to use first names, so you may call me Francis."

"Thanks, I'll certainly try and keep that in mind sir - er - I mean Francis." He laughs again at me as I continue laying the foundations for my new personality.

"Here, let me show you to your cabin," he says, and says a hearty 'welcome' to the last few stragglers before leading me into a small side door which had almost blended in with the shadows if not for the light shining through from the corridor beyond it.

The walls down this corridor are painted a pale yellow, and we walk up some stairs before we get into the section of staff cabins. Cambola takes a small keycard from his jacket pocket and slides it to open the door.

"I'll give you a while to unpack, someone will be down later to break you in and show you the ropes," he says, gesturing me inside. "You seem like a bright lad, I'm sure you figure everything out in no time."

"I can't think of any ship I'd rather work on," I smile, and he gives me a small nod before handing the card over and closing the door as he leaves. I drop my smile immediately after the door clicks shut and fish my phone from my pocket.

I'm in

S.H.

I click send, and I recieve another message within the minute.

Room 164

-S.H.

The game is on.


	10. Chapter 10

Ten minutes after the boat has left Plymouth, I find myself looking out of the small window in my cabin to watch England shrink away slowly. I'm jolted away as someone knocks on my door, and I march over to open it.

"Hi," the man says, a slight twinge to his English accent. He's very muscular and matches me for height. His hair blonde hair is soft but combed upwards. His bright green eyes look depressed and there's a distinct look of self-hatred behind his smile. "I'm Dean, you must be Scott," I smile and reach forward to shake his hand. "I'm here to show you around, although once you've reached the foyer area, it's fairly self explanatory."

"When do I get assigned to a room?" I ask, being direct.

"Ah, that'll be after the tour," he chuckles slightly. "Don't worry, we'll put you to work in a minute." He smiles, but it drops as he turns and leads me back out of the door and waits behind me as I lock it.

He leads me back down the steps and into the corridor of which Cambola lead me down around half an hour ago until we reach the entrance which of course, is all closed up. As we follow the lights above us forward into the foyer, I realise what Dean had meant. On the marble white floor they have painted lines leading customers to the resturant, the pool and the viewing deck, to name just a few. It really couldn't be any simpler.

"Of course," Dean says, "if you follow the lines down to the cabins, they split off to seperate floors. Makes the job as simple as pie." I laugh polietly, and he looks over at the entrance to the cabins. "There are fifteen floors in total, and like your average cruise liner, they range in price depending on where you want it situated. The assistants will be working on the top five floors, you'll be sure to meet with them later."

"Dean." We turn around in response to the voice and find the man from reception waving us over. This man is a good four inches taller than with broad shoulders and shoulder-length brunette hair. Judging from the identical silver band on each of their ring fingers, it is evident that they are married, however they don't show the tell tale signs of a couple in love. Like his partner, however, he appears to be depressed and unhappy, though his eyes are wise so he's clearly intelligent. "Francis wanted me to assign Scott to a room."

"Alright, we'll just be a minute," Dean replies. "That's Sam, my partner, we had our wedding here, on the Tilly Briggs."

"Before or after?" I question, frowing.

"Sorry?"

"When did you start working here, before or after you got married?"

"Oh," Dean says, and I see him exchange glances with Sam, and he moves his head to the left - a common sign of someone who is about to lie. "After. We were offered the positions as a wedding gift from Cambola."

"Is that common?"

"Yeah, I suppose," Dean shrugs. "Whenever Cambola finds a suitable worker, I guess." I can't help but feel sceptical. It would have to mean that Cambola liked to swap and change his staff, because it's obvious from the condition of the ring on Dean's finger that they only got married recently. "Anyway, best be getting you sorted." He gestures for me to walk over to the desk, and with a smile, I comply.

"So, you're Scott Harris, are you?" Sam asks me, and I frown.

"Sorry?"

"Francis talks about you all the time," he explains. "Apparently, you inspired him to come up with the 'assistant idea' as he calls it. There's only a few others here."

"Really," ask, my frown deepening before smiling up at him. "Glad I'm an inspiration to some people." So he changes staff often and suddenly comes up with ideas to accommodate. Mr Cambola is coming across as very suspicious indeed.


	11. Chapter 11

"Okay," Sam says, typing a few last details into the computer in front of him while I look around. There doean't seem to be many photos of the couple together on his desk, or of any family which is odd. "That's you booked in for room 164. A couple in their thirties, so I'm told, a nice couple. Their first trip."

"That's great, thank you," I say, resisting the temptation to smile at the simplicity but feel the suspicion rise. "I better get going then!" Sam laughs in response.

"Good luck." I smile in return as I jog up the steps, feeling slightly weightless for a moment as the boat crashes up against a tall wave, but land safely down on the steps once more. I follow the painted lines as they lead me through several corridors, and up a lift which the lines go into and climb to the buttons to tell you which one you need to press. As far as organisation goes, they are very helpful.

I slip my copy of dad and John's keycard into the key reader and I push the door open as it unlocks. I can hear, before I step inside, that they're having an argument, so I wait by the door until they realise I'm there.

"What the hell are we doing here Sherlock?" John demands. "If there'd been a murder, the company would be forced to closed."

"Very good," dad says calmly, not getting agitated, but rather, seeming to be looking critically at his deductioning skills. "What else?"

"What else?" John repeats, an angry smile on his face. "Do you think this is a game?!"

"What else?" dad says again, but John glances at me as he spins around angrily and then does a double take.

"Sophie?" he says, frowning. "How long have you been there?"

"Less than a minute," I admit lightly. "I am hurt, however, that you didn't notice me sooner."

"I saw you come in," dad says, and I smile and shake my head.

"Nope."

"I may have heard the door."

"Sherlock!"

"Alright," he says, quickly and quietly. "I didn't see you."

"Thank you," I smile.

"Yeah, lovely," John says, an angry smile back on his face as the surprise fades. "But what are we doing here? Where's the women, eh? Apart from Sophie, I don't see anyone else, so what exactly are we doing here?"

"I knew it couldn't last long," dad mutters to me, and I chuckles softly.

"What?" John demands.

"You were right, just now, when you said that if there'd been a murder that the company would be closed," I admit, beginning to pace the room. "I can tell you now that we are definitely here for the sake of a case, so if there's been a murder and the boat company hasn't been shut down, then what do you infer?"

"The boat company is the one that's commiting them?" John says slowly, frowing again.

"And covering them up as suicides, yes," I confirm.

"So if it's the staff that are commiting them, then why are we not - ?"

"Being staff?" I finish, and he nods, tilting his head slightly as he begins to listen. Maybe the anger hasn't quite worn off yet. "If we were all crew, it wouldn't just raise suspicion, it would be pointless. I've positioned myself in the staff in the hope that I might get to hear something important relating to it. As the victims are all entirely guests, you and Sherlock are here in the hope of getting caught."

"Hope you brought your gun," dad adds.

"Let me get this straight," John says, ignoring dad's comment. "Sherlock and I are what - bait?"

"Exactly," dad says.

"Precisely," I add.

"Glad that clears things up," dad finishes.


	12. Chapter 12

"I'm going to have to go," I announce, standing up from my chair. "They'll be wondering what we're up to."

"You know the plan?" dad asks me, and raise my eyebrows as if to say 'really?'.

"How about you, John," I say, looking over to his figure on the bed.

"If we aren't dead by the end of this boat trip, I'll kill you."

"I'll take that as a yes, then," I reply as dad and I both walk towards the door. Dad opens it to let me through, and I'm taken aback as I see Dean standing against the wall outside.

"Hello, Mr Thorn," he says, turning. "I hope our young gentleman hasn't been disturbing you." Dean smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Oh, no!" dad exclaims, clapping his hands together with a flourish. "No no no. Scott's been ever so helpful, haven't you?" I nod back at him.

"Thank you sir, it's my pleasure to meet you."

"Bless him," dad smiles at Dean. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Dean, Dean Winchester, sir."

"Thank you Dean. Is my partner correct in thinking that we need to be down in the restaurant at six for dinner?"

"That's correct, sir. Will I need to reserve you a place?"

"If you could, thank you." Dad begins to walk back into his room, but stops as he reaches the door and turns back to look at me. "Could I possibly have Scott back here again tomorrow at no later than half seven?"

"Of course sir," I reply, and with a small nod, dad darts back inside the room. As the door shuts, Dean's false smile drops.

"What the hell, Scott?" he demands. I draw my eyes away from the door to look over at him.

"I was helping him with the unpacking," I say. "They had loads of it."

"Enough to last several hours?" I frown and look down at my watch.

"Sir, it's only been an hour and a half," I reply slowly, studying his face carefully. I see his muscles tense up and his hands clench shut into fists; his knuckles turn white. "Sir? Is everything alright?"

"Go on ahead and tell Sam to meet me in the cabin."

"Of course, sir. But why?"

"Just do as you're told!" he shouts, and I quickly turn and jog down the corridor. Several heads poke out into the corridor to see what the shouting was about, but I ignore them thanks to the buzzing information flying around in my mind, waiting to be sorted.

Why was Dean under the impression I'd been in there for several hours, and then got agitated when I'd corrected him. What had gone on whilst I was inside dad's compartment, and how long was Dean standing outside? What had he heard?


	13. Chapter 13

Sam looks up from the newspaper he's holding and sits upas I arrive back in Reception.

"Scott, what's up?" he asks, frowning and tucking the paper beneath the desk quickly.

"I don't know, sir, it's Dean. He wants to see you in your cabin. It sounded quite urgent."

"What time is it, Scott?"

"Just gone half three, sir, why?" His frown deepens and he stands up. He towers above me, a good three inches taller

"If you see Dean on the way, tell him I'm coming."

"Sir, what's happening?"

"It's best if you just stay out of the way." With one final look back at his desk again, he sprints off down towards the staff deck. I wait until he's gone, then reach over the top of the desk to reach the newspaper stuffed beneath. I realise as I bring it closer to me, that it's actually a collection of small newspaper clippings and missing person photographs of those who dissapeared on this ship. Why is Sam keeping a collage of all the people who go missing? I remember deducing earlier that Dean could havebeena liardue to theway his head turned before he spoke, so the possibility of him being someone he isn't is very likely. I will have to look into it though because it's also likely that someone else has hired in another detective duo, and if so, that'll mean we'll have to save their necks when they stumble upon something they shouldn't.


	14. Chapter 14

I don't leave my cabin until six o'clock, and even then it's only because I need to show my face at the dinner, and I take my gun just in case something is going on.

The restaurant is full of men of all shapes and sizes. It certainly seems as though the whole ship has turned out for the first dinner on board. It's part of my duties to show my hand at anything I'm told to do, so I soon find myself waiting on the couples as I thought I'd be doing from the moment we decided to take this case. I'm not arguing though, because as dad once told me 'if you want to find something out, work in the kitchen'. So far, however, I haven't heard anything out of the ordinary, although the staff do seem a bit tense, as if something's about to happen. And I have a feeling it's not about the amount of people down here tonight.

As I walk into the kitchen carrying a few of the empty plates, I catch a figure shuffling around in the shadows like a rat, and I pick up a chef knife before walking over to investigate. Immediately the figure begins to walk away towards the door to the walk-in fridge, and I cautiously followed after him, careful to ensure he's in front when I step in after him.

The lighting is better in here, and I can now hear his crazy mutterings as they echo around the small area. He gestures to some upturned fruit crates with his remaining arm - his other just a stump at the top of his shoulder which looks like it was badly stitiched. He obviously didn't go to an expert to get this done, in fact, I would guess he did it himself. He takes a seat on one of the crates himself, and after a second, I hesitantly copy.

"You're here about them disappearances, aren't you?" he asks, watching his hand as it plays with some splintering wood. "I know. I might not leave this place, but Mick knows."

"You're Mick Waters," I say in realisation. "You came here withDaniel a few weeks ago."

"No!" he cries, rocking backwards and forwards. "I knew Danny, but Mick has been here months."

"Your partner came to us just the other day," I explain calmly. "But of course! He must have been paid off to leave you behind." I lean forward on the small makeshift seat. Looking around, I can see two buckets, one full of water, the other ... not. Some food scraps lie on the floor in the corner of the room, so obviously someone knows he's here, keeping him out of the way like an animal. "Other people have been taken," I say slowly, unsure how mentally stable this man is. "Have you seen anything?"

"Mick sees everything and nothing," he replies.

"They've told you to keep quiet," I realise. "But it's okay, Mick. I can get you back to Daniel, but you have to tell me what you've seen."

"Mick see Daniel?"

"That's right," I say gently. He must have been driven insane by having no human contact for so long, plus whatever happened with his arm must have been traumatising. "But you have to tell me where they're taken because I think it's about to happen again." Mick's face lights up, and he stands back up quickly, already walking towards the door. I get up and follow him outside and across the resturant, ignoring the funny looks from the guests as we cut through the tables and towards the exit. Meanwhile, I keep an eye out for dad and John, but they're not here. Neither is Sam or Dean, and I'd expected Cambola down for the first dinner at the very least but he's not there either. I have a very strange feeling this dinner is meant as a distraction to keep the guests - but also, more importantly, me - out of the way. And I don't like the sound of that.


	15. Chapter 15

Mick finally stops at the entrance to the very top deck - the sunbathing area - and pretty much as far away from the restaurant as you can get. I can hear a struggle going on outside.

"Stay there, and be quiet," I say, handing the knife to Mick in case anything goes wrong. As I come to the doors leading outside, I grab my gun from my belt and quietly push the doors open, before creeping out onto the deck. I walk slowly out into the open, my gun poised, cocked and ready to shoot, but then stop as I reach the end of the wall's safety. Trying not to draw too much attention to myself, I peer around the side of the wall to see what's happening, and I let out a small gasp and retreat back behind the safety of the wall. I'm really hoping I didn't see what I thought I did. He's a cannibal.


	16. Chapter 16

I take a deep breath as I try and compose myself. What should I do? I've never handled anything like this before. Dad would know, but he can't help me now. Both him and John are being restrained by two bouncer-like men, and it seems as thoughSam and Deanare there as well, no longer dressed in their ship uniform. Sam wears a plaid shirt and denim jacket while Dean wears an oversized leather jacket and a plaid shirt underneath. There's a few other passengers being held, but none of them are in their couples. I wonder why. They can't all be paid off?

I glance down at my gun, the thought process of what to do still running through my mind. I have two shots, maximum. But who should I hit?

Biting my lip slightly, I edge towards the end of the wall, and then walk slowly towards the group, sticking to the shadows in case one of the bouncers see me. It's night time. The moon is high in the sky and the stars are shining against their inky background. My only light - their only light as well - is supplied by the dim orange lights hanging from the side of the wall in a line. If I could find a way of cutting the power ... no, that would never work. In my experience, wild scrambles in the dark never work.

As I get closer, I can hear Cambola is saying something as he wipes his face with a handkerchief, the blood from his lips soaking into the silk. A torn body lies at his feet. Poor man. I stop for a moment, listening to what he's saying, but preparing myself for him reaching for someone else.

"Who wants to go next?" he asks, throwing the handkerchief over the side of the ship and into the water.

"I'll go," dad says, and my breath hitches. "If you tell my why you're doing this." I suddenly have an idea and reach into my own pocket for my phone. When we reach America, the police may not accept our word for what's happened here tonight, so evidence will be essential. Once it's started recording, I slip it into my trouser pocket, the microphone sticking out the top.

"Well I suppose you won't be able to tell anyone," he chuckles. "Very well, if that's your last request." I can see John stiffen from beside dad, but dad seems perfectly calm. Has he seen me? The man holding dad pulls him over to Cambola, and then forces him down to his knees. Dad doesn't seem the slightest bit bothered. He brushes out his suit a bit, but if anything, he looks a little bored. "You're all here tonight because it was your partners treat, wasn't it?" Cambola asks, directing this to the passengers. They nod slightly, looking nervously at each other. "You've all been betrayed. Your partners have sold you to me to do with you as I please. This isn't a honeymoon boat cruise, as some of you may have thought. You're here because your partners wanted rid of you. You're mine for the taking." There's some muttering between some of the passengers, shocked silence on the others.

"You're a liar!" one of them cries. "Gary wouldn't do that to me!" As I watch Cambola, he makes a small gesture to one of the bouncers, and Gary's partner is on the deck. His neck snapped.

Now everyone is shocked into silence.

"I own you. I can do whatever I want with you because you're mine. And you won't be leaving this boat."

"Is that a promise or a threat?" I call out, still shadowed beside the building. He spins around, but I dart out of sight, pressing myself up against the wall. I think I can reach the power switch if I keep moving.

"Who's there?" Cambola calls. "Where are you?" The bouncer men have realised their hold on the passangers, their hands now reaching for guns in their pockets. I'm really hoping this is going to work.

I move quickly forward and the guns start firing. Bullets embedd the wall behind me, but I keep moving. If I can just ...


	17. Chapter 17

My fingers find the switch, and now we're plunged into darkness. The bouncer men seemed to be completely ignoring the passengers now, more concerned in finding me, but someone, I think it's Sam, is ushering the group towards the door, where a feeble light is glowing through.

"What are you waiting for?" I hear Cambola yell. "Get the light!" I dart across the deck to where I can remember dad and John were standing and I feel some large hands grasp hold of me.

"Sophie?" I can hear John hiss. "Is that you?"

"I can't say much for your talents of secrecy, John," I say softly. "Our cover would be blown if it wasn't." The hands release me, and I can just make out dad's figure behind me.

"I don't think now's the time to be talking about 'cover'," an American says, just as quietly. "It's Dean, not English, if you hadn't noticed."

"Pleasure to meet you, not English Dean," I say sarcastically. "I'd say we have a maximum of ten seconds before they find the light. Do you have a plan?"

"We were kinda hoping you did," said another American. "Sam, also not English."

Before I can answer, I'm grasped from behind, but this time I'm yanked backwards. I let out a small gasp of surprise, and stupidly drop my gun in the process. My captor pushes me to the floor as he retrieves my pistol.

"I prefer my food not to have bits of metal inside of them," Cambola hisses. "It does make for a very inconveniant meal." The lights flicker back into life. The bouncers are back, restraining dad, John, Sam and Dean. This is it.

I close my eyes as I hear him cock the pistol. Any second now.

The gun fires. But nothing happens. I'm sure there were to bullets in there. What happened? I open my eyes and see Mick sprawled out in front of me, a gunshot wound in his chest.

"Mick?" I exclaim, and quickly unwrap my scarf and apply pressure to the wound with it.

"Don't worry about me," he coughs, his lunicy seeming to be taken away from him in his last moments. "Tell Danny I love him." I release my hands as Mick's eyes flutter shut, and lean back from his body. I look around at the small group of men and shake my head sadly. He sacrificed his life for me when he had no call to do it.

I look back around at Cambola, enraged, but I barely see him when he pulls the trigger for the final time. I gasp as bullet rips through me. I can hear the men calling me from where they're being held. One of them manages to wrestles free, and I can just see him punch Cambola unconcious before I drop into a dreamless sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

I wake up in a hospital. I have no idea how I got here from the boat, but I really couldn't care less at the moment. My brain has gone all fuzzy, and I can't think straight. What happened?

Looking around, I can see that I'm in a British hospital. The ship must have turned back around. I'm in a room on my own, a small vase of flowers are on the surface in front of my bed, and at my side is a morphine machine which is pumping into me. Despite the morphine, the pain is almost unbearable, and I look down to my shoulder to see a large white bandage over the wound. Also beside me, I see a small post-it note and squint at what it says.

Your father needs to eat, won't be long

John

I roll back onto my back and close my eyes, the morphine beginning to kick in again. I fall asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

A week after being stuck in hospital, I'm released. During the last week, Cambola has been charged with several accounts of murder and kidnapping and should have a sentence long enough to last him for the rest of his life, and the boat has to stay in port for a few weeks for a full investigation to be carried out.

Sam and Dean are at the airport already as our cab pulls into a bay, and Dean comes over as we do.

"Nice bandage shortie," Dean says, looking at the white bandage which is wrapped around my shoulder as we pile out the taxi, and I look around at him sharply.

"We're the same height," I reply and he shrugs.

"Guess you're just as awesome as I am."

"So, that whole boy thing ..." Sam says, coming over and completely ignoring his brother.

"Just a cover," I reassure him, and he smiles. Looking him over, I frown. He's intelligent, as if he's been to University - or college as they call it in America - but he's obviously dropped to help his brother, Dean. He's lost almost everyone, and he's guilty about it - as if he blames himself. I look over at his brother and I see the same, except that Dean tries to cover it up with alcohol and pride. He's tired and has a lot of self-hatred. But it's obvious that these two aren't part of the police force.

"And, just so we're clear," Dean says, "We're not a couple."

"I know," I say. "It was quite obvious."

"I'm not sure if I'm relieved, or if I'm concerned that our disguises need working on," Sam chuckles, passing me a slip of paper with two phone numbers. "Anyway, don't be a stranger. Call us if you need anything."

"Why would we need to call you?" dad asks, frowning as I take the paper.

"Oh, I dunno," Dean shrugs. "Just in case."

"We better get going," John says, handing dad and I our suitcases. "It was nice meeting you."

"Thanks for ..." Dean coughs. "Thanks for saving our asses back there."

"Just try and stay out of trouble," John says.

"Sure," Sam laughs. "That'll be easy!"

"You guys better be off now," Dean says. "Catch you later shortie." I spin back around and scowl at him and he laughs.


End file.
